


School For Boys

by xenascully



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Dozier School for Boys newsline. Sam finds a possible case when a man shows up dead after an excavation team begins unearthing graves of children at a Florida reform school for boys. Sam experiences some overwhelming visions that lead him and Dean to believe that this is more than just a ghost story. Mentions of implied torture of a wide variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters. I play with them. Very very gently. And...well sometimes not very gently at all.

"Sammy?" Dean cautiously took a step forward into the room, hands held up somewhat in front of him to show him he was safe; like approaching a frightened animal.

Sam cowered back against the wall, fear etched onto his face as he took quick, panicked breaths. "Leave me alone," he pleaded in a small voice. "Please...please leave me alone..."

"Sammy, it's just me," Dean assured him. "You know I wouldn't hurt you..." his heart was hammering in his chest at the sight of his brother reacting this way.

"Guh! No!" he recoiled, bending over as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please stop! Gah!" he dropped to his knees, hard, wrapping protective arms around himself.

"Jesus...what the hell?" Dean crossed the room toward him, reaching out to grab hold of him, pull him away from whatever was causing him this obvious pain. There was no ghost in here, or they'd feel it in the air, the cold, sudden drop in temperature and their breath becoming visible. None of that happened. So what the hell what going on?

"No no no, please no!" Sam scrambled away, eyes wide with fear and wet with tears that were now streaming down his face.

"Sam, what the hell is happening? Talk to me!" Dean stood there, helplessly, as Sam started to writhe on his back on the floor, like he was being held down.

"Help!" he yelled out. "Help me, please! Somebody please!" and then his voice cut short like someone had his neck in a vice.

"Curse," Dean thought, eyes shifting wildly in thought. "It's gotta be a freaking curse. Hex bag!" he started searching the room, shoving things over and tearing his knife through the old, decrepit mattress that lay on its rusting iron frame, as Sam's struggled screams reignited. "Damn it! Where the hell is it?" he shouted, fear for his brother's cries fueling his anger.

He pushed off of the bed and threw his hands under the frame, flipped the entire thing over with a grunt, scanning the floor beneath it with his eyes. Then, overhead, a humming, buzzing sound started, and he looked up at the light bulb that hung from the ceiling as it began to glow more powerfully. Then it snapped and blew out.

Sam's screams stopped.

Dean's eyes went to him and he dropped to his knees beside him on the floor. "Sammy?" his hands hovered over his still body, gratefully seeing the rise and fall of his chest before looking up at his face. "Sam?"

Sam was staring up at the ceiling; at nothing. His face was slack, void of emotion, and Dean's heart clenched in his chest as he watched tears slip down the sides of Sam's face and into his hair...


	2. Chapter 2

One day earlier...

"You gonna eat that?" Dean asked, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. They'd gotten take-out from a Chinese place up the road from their motel, and Sam looked like he was done with his kung pow moo shu what-the-crap-ever.

Sam raised a brow as he looked up from his computer screen at him. "It's got vegetables in it," he told him.

"So what? 'm still hungry." Dean grabbed the half-empty white container from in front of his brother. Sam snorted a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he looked back down at the screen. "You find us somethin'?" Dean asked with his mouth stuffed full of noodles.

After a short, disgusted look, he replied, "Yeah, actually. Maybe."

"What is it?" he stabbed his fork back into the container to retrieve far more than a mouthful of food.

"Ever hear of the Dozier School for Boys, down in Florida?"

Sam fully expected to see Dean shake his head and keep shoveling Chinese food into his mouth past capacity. That's how it usually went. Dean would say, "Nope," and Sam would tell him what it was.

"Yeah," Dean answered instead.

Sam had a mild look of disbelief wash over his face, stunned into silence for just a moment. "You have?"

"Yeah, Sam, I have."

"How? When?" he asked, as if demanding he prove it.

"One of Dad's empty threats," he replied. "When I was a kid, like twelve, maybe. Ya know, just hitting puberty and all. Dad said I was getting an attitude and he was gonna send me to Dozier. Had no idea what it meant. He told me to go look it up. Pretty effective tactic."

"He would never have sent you there," Sam said, flatly, almost angrily as if he needed to jump to Dean's defensive all these years later, against a man who'd been long dead.

"'Course not," he shrugged, chucking the empty container into the paper bag they'd brought the food back in. "But I didn't think about that at the time."

"You were always Dad's perfect kid," Sam shook his head in disbelief. "How could he have even said that to you? Even as a joke?"

Dozier's School for Boys in Marianna, Florida had been open since 1900. It was a correctional facility of sorts for boys who had committed even the most trivial of bad behavior, like truancy. Throughout its 111-year history, the school gained a reputation for abuse, beatings, rapes, torture, and even murder of students by staff. Despite periodic investigations, changes of leadership, and promises to improve, the allegations of cruelty and abuse continued. On its grounds, there is a burial site littered with white pipe-crosses.

Dean shrugged. "Wasn't a big deal, man. It was just one of his bad nights, you know?"

"Drinking," he surmised.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Anyway, so what about this place?" he changed the subject.

Sam huffed out a breath and glanced at his screen for a moment. "School got shut down a couple years ago," he told him. "Archeologists have been given funding to start excavating the graves on the grounds so they can investigate all of the deaths."

"About time they shut that place down," Dean said. "Just thinking about it gives me the creeps."

"Really?"

"Kids were murdered there, dude. How can you not be creeped out by that?"

"I didn't say I wasn't."

"Anyway, so what's happening, now, that makes it a case for us?"

"Well," Sam started, "One of the archeologist's assistants was working late on the site, alone."

"That doesn't bode well."

"They found him the next morning, when they all came out to start up again. He was in the White House, dead."

"The White House...that's the one building where they took the white kids to beat them or whatever, right?"

"Yeah."

"So he was dead. How do you know some unruly ex-employee of the school didn't come by and kill him for finding something?"

"I don't," he shrugged. "But...I find it unlikely that any of those old croons had the strength to whip the guy to death, and get out of there without leaving a single stitch of evidence behind."

"Whip? Like as in with an actual whip" Dean raised his brows as Sam nodded. "That's definitely weird, but...not sure it's our kinda thing."

"I think it's weird enough that we should at least check it out," Sam implored. "From what I've been reading about this place, about the boys that actually made it out of there and talked about their time there, some really messed up stuff happened over the years. If those kids that died, died in the violent way some people are theorizing, there could be several vengeful spirits there."

"And the excavating could've been the thing that sorta woke them up," Dean thought out loud.

"Possibly," Sam agreed. "I mean, if that's what this is."

"Guess we'll find out soon enough. 'bout a ten hour drive from here, I think. We should head out."

"If you really wanna drive through the night."

"Florida's hot, dude. We'll get in before daylight, no problem. Get some shuteye, then head out to the school at sunset."

After a moment of considering it, Sam shrugged and nodded in agreement.

*~.~*

They found a little Bed & Breakfast not even two miles from the school, as all the others seemed to be booked up with people that were in town for the same thing. Well, maybe not the same thing, exactly. But they were there for the event going on at the school. Whether they were part of the excavating, media, documentary groups, or flat-out enthusiasts, and probably, now, even some conspiracy nuts over the murder, the fact was that they were all in the regular motels, and this place was all there was left. Really, it was better. It was closer. But most travelers had that stupid sky miles crap and hotel multi-stay bonus points, pretty much forcing them to stay at certain locations. Really, Sam and Dean had lucked out with this place.

Too bad that wasn't convincing enough for Dean.

"This place smells like an old lady," he'd complained.

"Better than some of the places we've stayed," Sam snorted. "Let's just get some sleep."

So they did. At least, they tried to. Four hours into some pretty deep slumber, Dean woke up. He didn't really know why, at first. He just kinda popped his eyes open up at the ceiling and tried to remember where the hell they were.

It was a small sound to the left of him, that pulled him straight into realization. His head snapped over to the bed where Sam still slept. Sunlight crept in through where the curtains didn't quite meet flush against the wall surrounding the window, lighting up the room just enough to see that Sam was in some kind of distress.

He was up out of bed, and side-sitting onto Sam's within the time it took to take another breath. Nightmares weren't a new thing for them. Normally, he'd just keep an eye on him and make sure to let him get through it on his own; wake him if it got to be too much, which really was just a habit from when Sam was still a kid. But there was something in the way his body was twisted, the sheen layer of sweat that seemed to cover him from head to tow, and the way his chest heaved in tiny bursts of sobs silenced only by unconsciousness, that made Dean's stomach clench in empathy.

"Sam," he said quietly, as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam whimpered, like the sobs had broken through a little. "Sammy, come on, wake up," he shook him a bit.

"Sorry...I'm sorry," he said in a weak, small voice, still asleep.

"Sam, come on, man," he tried to turn him onto his back, hoping the movement would pull him from the dream. It worked, but he hadn't expected him to scramble back up against the headboard like a cornered animal, shaking like one, too. "Dude! Sammy, you're okay, man!" he was on his knees on the bed, now, hands planting firmly on Sam's shoulders, trying to get him to focus on him. "It was just a dream."

Sam's breath came labored and quick, still caught up by the feeling of fear in the dream. But he met Dean's eyes and tried to calm himself down; tried to pull himself together, away from the strangeness of his own reaction. "Dean?"

"You with me?" After a moment of consideration, Sam nodded. "Dude, what the hell were you dreaming about?"

"I..." Sam swallowed, trying to understand it, himself. "I'm not exactly sure," he told him. "Feels like it wasn't even...I mean...It was like it wasn't me; like I wasn't me in the dream. I was someone else."

"Well whoever it was, they're still shaking, dude," he sat down facing him, the sides of their thighs touching as he continued to see and now feel the tremors still going through his brother.

Sam let loose a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around himself as if he could stop them with the action. "I still feel it."

"Feel what?"

"How scared he was," he replied. "Helpless."

Dean turned himself so he was sitting back against the headboard, and threw an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Was it a vision?" he asked with trepidation.

"No. I don't think so," he shook his head, leaning into him more than he wanted to let himself. "This was different. With visions, it was always like I was just watching. But this...I could feel it; the pain, the fear..." his body shook again, and Dean held him tighter.

"It was a dream, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam shook his head, but stayed silent, still absorbing every piece of comfort Dean had to offer in the moment. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on getting control of his heart beat, taking deliberate, slow breaths.

"You won't be sleeping anymore today, will you," Dean stated, not really asking a question. "It's okay," he glanced at the red, glowing numbers on the digital clock that sat on the nightstand in between the beds. "We got a good four hours in. We can function on that."

"You can go back to bed, Dean," Sam replied, yet didn't move at all from where he was plastered into his brother's side.

"No way, dude. I'm up, now."

"Sorry..."

"Shut up, bitch," he smirked. "Not your fault your brain works overtime."

"Still...it's like being a scared little kid. It's embarrassing."

"Hey, man, sometimes I miss when you were a scrawny little kid who actually needed me for stuff," he scruffed Sam's hair.

"Jerk," he replied, but it made him smile anyway...


	3. Chapter 3

They decided to get up, grab some coffee and a sandwich from the kitchen downstairs, and head over to the morgue, instead of attempting any more sleep. Though Sam felt bad about it, he was grateful that he wouldn't have a chance to be placed back inside that nightmare.

The visit was quick, suits, FBI badges, shoddy coroner security, and the end of a normal work day, got them in easily. The coroner had gone for the day, and they'd simply been given access to the freezers; the only body being stored in there at the moment, anyway.

"Jesus," Dean cringed as Sam pulled the sheet from the body after pulling the drawer out. "He's freakin' hamburger meat, dude."

"Gross," Sam commented at Dean's description, then glanced back down at the body. "The article was definitely an understatement. This guy had to have been whipped over a hundred times, and hard." He picked up the clipboard that laid next to the body, and flipped through the pages. "Died from blood loss, according to this. There are...a hundred and seventeen separate lacerations that they've been able to identify. Insane," he shook his head, setting the clipboard back down.

"Guess we're heading to the school, then," Dean raised his brows as he threw the sheet back up over the man's body. "If the cops are investigating, they're sure as hell not gonna be at the school still. I'm surprised they haven't shut down the excavating. The way that place is locked down, they should at least assume it was someone on the team."

"I'm betting it's easier to get in and out of without security manning the gates," Sam countered as they closed everything up.

"Bet security is back, now," he raised a brow.

*~.~*

The sun was low enough, now, to be hidden from view, making the sky orange and pink as they sat in waiting in the Impala once parking it hidden behind the trees that made up the perimeter of the school grounds. On the other side of the tall chain-link fence, members of the excavation team were packing up their tools in their vans, and covering partially dug grave sites with orange plastic.

The site was hidden for the most part, keeping anyone from seeing from the street. White tents were placed strategically to make that happen, but also served to shade the workers during breaks from the hot Florida sun. There was so much land between the fences and the buildings, though, that it almost seemed needless to try and hide anything. If someone was really so concerned about seeing the excavating, that they were standing out there with binoculars, there wasn't really much to see anyway.

"Look at this place, man," Sam said, quietly, as he looked out his window. The fence ran around the entire grounds; all 159 acres of it. It was something like 6ft high, with rolls of chicken wire at the top, making it higher and more impossible to scale.

The grass was a deceivingly bright shade of green going on forever, surrounding unassuming buildings with a false sense of innocence and freedom in what was obviously anything but.

"Hard to believe this is what they thought they needed to keep little kids in line."

"Kids can climb fences," Dean shrugged. "Chicken wire was probably necessary."

"Maybe if the kids were dangerous," Sam turned to his brother with furrowed brows.

"Hey, I get it," Dean raised his hands, defensively. "I'm just sayin', that's what that's about."

Sam pressed his lips together, turning to face back out the window. "It's just...it's hard to believe this went on for so long," he said in a quieter voice. "That there are people capable of doing stuff like that to children."

"I've said it before, man. Monsters I get. People are a whole different story."

The car was silent for a while as they watched the workers leave, one by one. The sky was turning a deep purple, headlights from the remaining work trucks popping on as they finished loading, before Sam spoke again. "What if it's actually people?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, what if it was people that killed this guy?" he asked, turning to look at his brother.

"Wouldn't be the first time we checked out a bum lead," Dean shrugged. "What're you so worried about?" he raised a questioning brow at his brother's sudden nervous stature.

"I dunno," Sam shook his head, looking back out the window. "It's just...there's a lot of people trying to find answers about these kids. It's the whole point of digging them up. If we have to salt and burn them, they'll never get those answers."

Dean thought about that for a minute before answering. "Ya know, Sam," he sighed, "These kids got sent to this place wrongfully. The families did nothing about it, and they knew, or had some idea at least, what could happen when you send a kid here. No one came outta this place unscathed, and it stayed around for an entire century, for crap's sake. They knew. That had to know.

"Not to mention, anyone that did this to them is long gone. I mean like long dead gone. Answers ain't gonna help anyone, except to satisfy curiosity maybe. If people really gave that much of a crap, this excavation thing, the school closing, it woulda happened a long damn time ago. If there really are spirits of kids here, you really wanna keep them around longer, just so people can get answers to questions they've survived this long not knowing anyway?"

"Would you have been okay not knowing what happened to mom?" Sam asked, looking back over at him. "Would you have moved on after twenty or thirty years, and right when you thought you had a way to get answers, someone incinerated them?"

"That's different," Dean narrowed his eyes. "This was people. These people are gone and they can't hurt anyone else. Knowing won't help them get revenge, Sam. Knowing just hurts more, especially when it's a confirmation of your worst fears. You really think they want verification...scientifically proven verification that their relative was beaten, raped, tortured, god knows what else, and buried in an unmarked grave after dying a horrifically terrifying death? You think that'll make 'em feel like they can move the hell on?"

Sam eyes dropped down somewhere in the air between them, teeth clenching as he absorbed what Dean had said. It was frustrating and sad and horrible. His nostrils flared in contemplation. Life, and death for that matter, wasn't fair. But Dean had a point. Sometimes not knowing really was the better choice.

"Okay, last man's out. Grab the wire cutters from the back," Dean said as he got out of the car. "Guards won't be back here for an hour."

"How do you know that?" Sam quirked a brow as he grabbed the cutters and shut the trunk.

"They were here to guard the workers," Dean told him. "Took off to grab some grub. If they even bother with night guards at a closed school, they won't be back till an even hour. If they were switching off, they'd have been here by now."

"You found a copy of the security schedule, didn't you," Sam surmised. Dean just glanced over at him with a smirk. Sam shoved the cutters into Dean's awaiting hand and leaned against the fence post, shaking his head.

Within minutes, Dean had cut through the fence links all the way down to where it met the earth, allowing Sam to pull it open so that they could get through. But first, they each grabbed a salt-round filled shotgun, EMF readers, and a duffel with a variety of other things they might end up needing in there, on the off chance they figured it out immediately, which in all honesty, usually required a bit more research, first.

"You know," Dean started as they began their walk toward the buildings, "If it is the spirits of these kids, this is gonna be a gigantic pain in the ass. Maybe even impossible. All those unmarked graves, and bodies no one is even sure of where they all are. We start digging up bodies, we aren't gonna finish in time before teams start showing back up in the morning."

"I don't think it's any of the ones that haven't been found," Sam replied. "If that was the case, there would've been activity before the excavating started."

"So you think it's one of the one's that have been unburied already."

"Which could mean the body isn't even here anymore."

"Fantastic."

"Well, what's worse is the possibility that the more they dig up-"

"The more pissed off dead kids we have on our hands," Dean finished for him. "Crap. How the hell are we gonna pull this off? Soon as we start burning, our odds of getting back in do continue are shot to hell."

"We'll figure it out," Sam shrugged. "And there's always a chance that it's not the kids."

"Yeah. Like there's a chance Frosty the Snowman is up in the Arctic defending people from migrating Yetis."

Sam snorted a laugh, shaking his head and hoping that whatever this was, they'd be able to take care of it. Then he paused in his steps a moment, hand shooting to Dean's chest to stop him and point it out. To their left in the distance, the remaining light in the sky revealed the macabre plot of white make-shift crosses littering the field, surrounded with posts and rope sectioning off each one; excavating tools, splayed about around them.

"Yeah," Dean huffed. "I saw the picture in the article. We should head to the White House."

"I wanna check it out, first," Sam said. "Just for a minute."

Dean grumbled, but followed after him. No way he was letting him go off on his own in this place. It was already giving him the creeps when he was just outside the fence.

As they approached the macabre plot of land, Dean watched Sam visibly shiver even before the out-of-place cool breeze rushed over them both. "Eyes open, Sam," Dean told him quietly as he pulled out his sawed-off, expecting to have to defend them from spirits at any given moment.

But Sam wasn't focused on his brother's words as much as the feeling of hopelessness and deep, dark sadness that seeped painfully into his pores. He wrapped his arms around himself and let out a shuddered breath as he took in the graves. He fought against impending tears and couldn't explain to himself why he was reacting this way. It's not like they'd never seen death before. It's not like they've never seen dead kids, for that matter. Yes it was sad. It was always sad. But he'd never felt so much...despair like this from anything other than losing his brother.

"Hey," Dean nudged him with an elbow. "What is it, man?"

Sam let out a breath. "I dunno," he said as he shook his head. "Something's not right."

"No kidding," Dean snorted. "What gave it away? The suddenly chill in the air or the hundreds of dead kids?"

"Do you smell that?" Sam asked, taking another breath in through his nose.

Dean sniffed the air a bit. "I dunno. Burnt marshmallows or something?" he guessed.

"It's like...Sandalwood," Sam said. "And Althaea root."

"What? How would you know how that crap smells? Wha'da you have a scratch 'n sniff encyclopedia of herbs or something?" he asked incredulously.

Sam didn't answer him. Instead he looked off to their right at the White House, feeling as though he were being called to it. "Come on," he told him and started toward it.

"Pretty sure that was my idea in the first place, but okay," Dean mumbled as he turned to catch up with him.

As Sam moved forward, the feelings he'd felt so strongly at the grave site developed into fear. A kind of fear he hadn't felt in a long time. Like, not since he was a kid. That kind of fear you don't know what to do with. The kind you haven't developed the reasoning within yourself in order to properly deal with yet. Only...Sam had, and he couldn't figure out why he felt this way now.

He found himself running toward that house, not sure why, but it felt more like he was running away from something than to it.

Dean watched as his brother picked up the pace. He watched the change in his stance as he did so, and how quickly he'd taken off before realizing just how far ahead of him he was, now. "Hey! Hold up, Sam!" he yelled as he ran after him. But Sam made a sound unlike anything Dean had heard from him in a long time, and just kept going. That sound... Sam was scared, and the last time Dean had heard him make that particular sound—like a held-back whimper—the kid was still in grade school on one of their very first hunts where he got to come along to the actual monster-killing part of it. Dean remembered it clearly, like it was yesterday instead of two decades ago. The grave they'd been digging at the time in order to salt and burn and get rid of a ghost. Funny thing was, it wasn't even the ghost that had shown up and scared his little brother off. A freaking werewolf, of all things.

Sam hadn't known, at the time, what he was looking at. He just knew it was scary and big and mean looking, and he had to run away, because he had nothing but a shotgun with rock-salt rounds, and when he'd fired at it, it only made the thing angrier. It took half a minute for Dean and John to get out of the grave and catch up and gun the thing down. Then another five to find Sam hiding in a mausoleum. By the end of that night, after John lectured him about the importance of always being prepared, he'd slept curled up in Dean's arms while his older brother promised to keep him safe. Sam learned that the only way out of that kind of trouble mixed with that kind of fear, was luck. He learned that he couldn't let his fear lower his odds like that ever again. Especially if it ended up that Dean was the one that needed his help. Dean hadn't heard that specific kind of fearful whimper from Sam again...until now.

"Sam!" Dean called out as Sam disappeared into the house. "Sonofabitch!" he shouted as he tore in after him.

Sam didn't know who he was anymore. He couldn't remember. He felt so small and helpless. He wasn't sure what was happening, only that he was in trouble and he was going to be punished and he needed to get away. Someone was after him. Someone very very bad.

"Sammy?" He heard a voice say, but when he turned, he could only see the bad man. The mean warden with the black eyes. He was coming toward him with a grim smile on his face.

Sam cowered back against the wall, fear etched onto his face as he took quick, panicked breaths. "Leave me alone," he pleaded in a small voice. "Please...please leave me alone..."

"Sammy, it's just know I wouldn't hurt you..." a voice said, but Sam couldn't tell where it was coming from. All he could see was the bad man.

"You've been very naughty," the man with the black eyes told him. "You know what happens now."

Sam felt the harsh blow to his stomach as the man's fist slammed into it. "Guh! No!" he cried.

"Sam!" the voice again...

"I'm sorry!" Sam cried out, dropping to his knees as the bad man continued to beat him. "I'm sorry! Please stop! Gah!" But there was no end to it. Even as Sam tried to curl himself into a ball, wrapping his arms around himself, the man continued.

"Jesus...what the hell?" The voice was barely audible anymore, but he tried to hear it anyway. It was the only thing he could focus on that wasn't this.

Then the man's eyes became black again, and he stopped hitting him, instead moving his hands to unbutton his pants. "No no no, please no!" Sam knew what the man was going to do. He scrambled away, panicked, unsure of what to do, but knowing that he needed to get out of there or the man would end up killing him, just like the others.

"Sam, what the hell is happening? Talk to me!"

"Help! Help me, please! Somebody please!" he screamed, but then the man's hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

"Curse. It's gotta be a freaking curse. Hex bag!" the voice said.

Sam tried to fight the man off of him to no avail as he was stripped of his clothes. The man brutally invaded him, shoving into him so hard that Sam felt as though he'd been ripped in half. His scream made it past the strong hand closed around his neck.

"Damn it! Where the hell is it?" the voice shouted.

But Sam was quickly losing the battle of consciousness. He felt the life drain out of his at the bad man's hands. Above him he saw a light grow brighter and brighter until it burst, and everything in his world went black.

Everything stopped.

Suddenly he knew who he was again. Sam knew who he was, and that what he'd just experienced wasn't real. Not for him, anyway. It had been a memory. An echo left behind from a helpless, frightened child. The pain and the fear and the hopelessness were all still bouncing and echoing around in his mind as he came to recognize his brother's voice somewhere nearby. The thick fog of emotion held him hostage for the moment, though. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could only feel.

"Sammy?" he heard Dean say, voice shaking. "Sam?"

He wanted to reply. Wanted to tell him he was okay. But the emotions he was feeling in that moment were so strong, he was struck dumb by them. He felt his own tears trickle down the sides of his face, and he heard Dean's panic beside him...


	4. Chapter 4

Once Sam came completely back to reality, he found himself on the floor of their room at the B&B, half in Dean's lap and clinging onto his shirt like a lifeline. He could hear his own breath rushing in his ears with his heartbeat, and felt himself swaying gently from side to side. Dean's arms were around him, one around his shoulders holding the side of him against Dean's chest, and the other holding his head against his shoulder, and he was rocking him slowly, talking to him softly in a mantra he was only now truly hearing.

"Gotta come back, Sammy. Come back, now, okay? You gotta come back. You're okay, I promise. I promise, Sammy, please. Gotta come back now..."

Dean felt it when Sam took his first deep breath in since all of this started, and he squeezed him a little tighter, partly to encourage him, partly out of relief.

Sam took great comfort in the smell of his brother. Which was weird, but at the same time, not really. Dean smelled like the Impala, which essentially was their home. The one thing, besides each other, that was always there at the end of the day. And that was...for all intents and purposes, comforting.

For the most part, the fear he'd felt before was gone. There was maybe a little tingle in the distance, like when a pain killer knocks out most of the pain, but you can still feel it sitting there on the edge. Or like when you're driving right on the edge of the farthest range of a radio station, and it's all static and faint voices. But Sam was back to himself, for the most part. He was, however, slightly afraid to move. The pain he'd felt earlier was overwhelming, and now that he didn't feel it, part of him thought maybe it was because Dean was there holding him, and if he moved away, it would come back. He didn't want it to come back...

"Sam?" Dean's voice was forced calm, but Sam could hear the anxiety laced in it.

"Dean..."

"Geezus, Sammy... Scared the hell outta me," he said in a rush; a sigh of relief coupled with an immediate relaxing of muscles he'd had clenched so tight since picking Sam up off that White House floor.

"We're at the room?" he asked, not moving and not letting go of his brother.

"Yeah, kiddo. Had to get you outta there," Dean told him, absentmindedly rubbing a hand up and down Sam's arm. "Something about that place... Sam, you remember what happened?"

"Did you kill it?" Sam asked, fist clenching a handful of Dean's shirt.

"Kill what?" Dean asked. "Hell, Sam, I have no idea what happened. You started flipping your shit and I lost it. I couldn't find anything. I dragged you outta there and hauled ass back here. I woulda kept on going if I knew what the hell was going on here. But you scared me half to death. Didn't know if leaving would make it worse or what..."

"Demon," Sam told him, weakly pushing away enough to meet his eyes.

Dean met them with question, brushing Sam's disheveled hair out of his face. "You saw a demon?" he asked.

Sam's mouth twitched in a frown and he shook his head for a moment before changing it to a nod. And with a rushing out of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, said, "It attacked me...him," he corrected. "It attacked the kid. Hurt him bad. Think it killed him. Think it might've been what killed all those kids. They're all trapped here, and-"

"Whoa, hold up, Sam," Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You gotta bring me up to speed, 'cause I have no damn idea what happened back there, and clearly you have some idea." Sam nodded and sniffled and looked around the room for a moment. "Let's get you off the floor first, okay? You thirsty? You're probably thirsty. Come on," he said as he pushed up to stand and then helped Sam up, leading him to sit on the edge of the bed before Dean fetched a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

"It raped them," Sam's voice shook as he spoke, and Dean looked over at his profile, at Sam's chin as it quivered slightly as he spoke. "The kids," he continued. "It beat them and raped them and killed them."

"Sam..." Dean took the few steps to get to his brother's side and sat down gently beside him, handing him the water after unscrewing the cap.

"Remember the smell, before we went to the house?"

"The sandalwood and marshmallows?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, shaking his head slightly. "There're books stating how certain mixtures of herbs and roots, including those two, could possibly trap a spirit. I think the demon has been using it to keep them here; bind them to that school somehow. Like...like their own personal little hell on earth."

Dean shook his head, still not completely understanding. "Why kill people, though? Why kill the excavator dude? And why did...whatever happened to you back there...why that?"

"I think...I think maybe they were trying to...communicate or something," Sam guessed, shrugging. "Like they were trying to tell me what the monster was."

"And they had to do it by hurting you?" Dean scoffed.

"They told me the only way they could. They don't know what he is. I don't think they do, anyway. The demon... They just knew his face. Maybe it was the only way they could tell me; making me experience one of their deaths." His eyes shifted in the air in front of him for a moment.

Dean sat there silently observing his brother for a moment as he thought about what he'd said. "So uh... the stuff the spirit showed you... This is kinda like the nightmare you had, isn't it?"

Sam looked at him, then. "Um...sort of," he replied. "The fear was kinda the same, but this was so much more intense. It wasn't just me experiencing this kid's death. It was like...every part of me was the kid. The way I felt in my head, the pain...everything. I couldn't control how I felt, and I didn't have any strength of my own to fight back with. I didn't even know who I was, for a while. I could...I could hear your voice, but I didn't have any idea who you were." That made Dean flinch. "I wasn't me anymore, for however long we were in that house."

"Okay why you?" Dean asked as he pushed off the bed. "Why did it do this to you and not me, huh?"

"I dunno, Dean. Maybe...maybe the trials opened up something for them..." Sam pushed to stand up, cautiously taking note of any aches or pains he might have from the ordeal, but finding none. "Maybe a lot of things. You know that sometimes things happen to me and it ends up being because of the demon blood thing or...you know, whatever. It's not completely off the table. And then again...maybe I wasn't the only one it affected."

"The hell do you mean?"

"The guy that got killed," Sam replied. "Maybe it was communicating with him."

"Oh that's real awesome," Dean nodded with a sarcastic smile. "So now these echoes can kill you? Great. I vote for lets torch and burn the whole damn property and then get the hell outta this godforsaken place."

"No, Dean," Sam shook his head. "I don't think the spirits can do much of anything but give the visions."

"That's some powerful mojo, Sam. I dunno..."

"They've been there for a century," Sam countered. "Trapped in one spot. They would've had to figure out how to get help without leaving. It's why I had the dream. It's like they're sending out a radio signal to whoever can hear it, but there aren't many who can."

"And you just happen to be one who can," Dean tilted his head, brows furrowed in frustration.

"Is it really so hard to believe?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. "If they can only show you things, then what killed that guy?"

"From what I saw in that house," Sam looked to his brother, "I think the demon is still in town. Like he's here just for kicks still, and that excavating team is a threat to his playground... The guy must've figured something out, or maybe even saw what the spirits were trying to show him, and the demon happened to be there. Took him out."

"So we've gotta somehow find this demon, or lure him in, and gank him," Dean stated.

"For starters," Sam replied. "Then we need to find the alter or whatever he's been using, and destroy it."

"And what about the kids? I mean...their ghosts, rather."

"Theoretically, they'll cross over or whatever, once they're free."

"How do we know none of them would be vengeful?"

"They might be. Except that we're exacting their revenge for them, so in essence, their unfinished business would be done with."

"This ain't Ghost Whisperer, Sam," Dean sighed. "They don't always go by logic."

"Well, Dean, so far they haven't actually hurt anyone-"

"Depends on how you look at it," Dean interjected.

"They're just trapped. They don't wanna be here. They just wanna leave."

"Leave and go where?" Dean argued. "What if they leave and decide to go after the people that sent them to that place to begin with, huh? Their descendants or whatever. What then?"

"Well then I guess we'll have to come back and start burning bones," Sam replied. "And hopefully they'll all be dug up by then and it'll be a hell of a lot easier than it would be if we tried to start now."

After a few moments of conflicted thought, Dean grumbled an agreement and turned to sit at the little table in their room. "In the morning," he added. "No way we're going back there tonight."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a small smile. "I need to get on my computer anyway. See if I can dig anything up about this guy..."

*~.~*

"Sometimes I really wonder about people's ability to observe what's right in front of their faces," Sam said a bit angrily as Dean walked in with coffee from downstairs, the next morning. He was seated at the table and now turning his computer so that Dean could see the screen full of information he'd found since the previous night.

"What'd you find?" Dean asked as he sank down into the chair Sam pulled over beside him.

"School staff photographs leading all the way back to the first year it was open. Look at the warden, Dean," he pointed at the screen.

"Okay," Dean looked at the sightly heavy-set man with brown, slicked-down hair and an almost comically curly mustache.

"There's a picture every year. He's in every one," Sam told him. "This is 1993," Sam showed him the photo.

Dean looked again. "Okay, that's the same dude," he said. "And he looks awfully good for being over a century old."

"Changed his hair and shaved, but it's him. He's...he's the one that h-hurt those kids," Sam's slight stutter caused Dean to turn his head to look at him. Sam was looking at the man with personal fear and disgust.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We're gonna get this asshole, okay? We're lucky he hasn't moved on to another playground yet. We'll get him and take him down."

"These poor kids, Dean," Sam shook his head. "It's like no one even cared. No one even cared about what happened to them."

"People care now," Dean assured him.

Sam looked over at him. "What if Dad had actually sent you here?" Sam asked almost whispering.

"Then this would've been over a long time ago."

"You'd be dead," Sam countered, face contorting with the thought. "You were a kid, just like them. They were helpless, and you wouldn't have had anyone to back you up. You would've died!"

"And Dad would've come and ganked the demon and saved all those other kids," Dean replied with a shrug.

"But you'd be dead," Sam said again. "And all the people we've saved, you and me together, they'd be dead too."

"Oh like you couldn't have saved any of them on your own," Dean scoffed.

"You think I'd be who I am today if you'd died when we were still kids?" Sam's face slackened a bit and Dean looked at him with a raised brow. "Think about it, Dean. If you hadn't been around...hell, I might not have made it outta grade school. And if I had, you think I'd be a good person?"

"Come on, Sammy, we're talking a hypothetical here. It ain't even on the table."

"But really, though. I'm just saying," Sam shrugged. "You always seem to think you don't matter. Like you're not worth as much as me. But if you only knew what kind of person I am...every time you've been dead... You just have no idea how much the good parts of me are there and kept there with you. Without you, Dean, I'm..." he paused and let out a breathy laugh. "I'm not a good person."

"The hell are you talkin' about, Sam?" Dean shook his head incredulously. "You were a productive member of society when you went to Stanford."

"You weren't dead," Sam shook his head slightly.

"You were fine with Amelia," Dean retorted.

"You weren't dead," he repeated. "Or at least...I had no idea," he confessed. "Amelia was...an accident. Before I hit that dog and met her, I have no damn clue...not a single clue what I was doing or where I was going. My head was so screwed up," his face contorted in the memory he was sharing, "Because Crowley wanted me to believe you were dead, but I couldn't... I couldn't believe it. I couldn't accept it, but inside my head, it was like I was torn up in so many pieces that I had no idea what to do. If I hadn't hit that dog...hell, Dean, I might've driven the car off the side of a cliff somewhere. Just to make it all stop."

"And I would've so kicked your ass on so many levels and for so many reasons," Dean narrowed his eyes and shook his head at him.

"I know," Sam replied. "I know that. Once I had to sit still for a bit, and my head had some time to sort things out a little, it's why I didn't take off again. I had to keep going, and I wasn't exactly in my right mind to know any other way than what I did..."

"How'd we get from me dying as a kid, to you defending yourself for the Amelia crap?" Dean asked, slightly confused by the entire conversation to begin with.

"We were talking about how I wouldn't be a good person if you hadn't been in my life," Sam reminded him with raised brows. "If Dad had sent you to this place and you'd died, you think there would've been anything on this planet that would've stopped me from becoming a monster like I was meant to be?" he asked in all seriousness. "You think Dad could've made me be any different?"

Dean swallowed against his dry throat, trying to maintain a straight face, instead of the doom-like feeling in the pit of his stomach at Sam's words. "Dad wouldn't have sent me away, Sam," Dean assured him. "He couldn't have handled you by himself. You'd have killed each other," he gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's not my point."

"What is your point?" Dean asked gruffly. "'cause what it sounds like you're tellin' me is that I should believe that Dad not sending me to this school, and all these hundreds of kids' horrific, brutal deaths is somehow better than if I'd died here and ended up saving them all."

"That's my point right there!" Sam shouted, slamming his laptop lid closed and pushing to stand up. "You're always so willing to be a martyr! To sacrifice yourself for everyone else! Even when you forget to do the math and think about how many more people you could save if you'd just stop even hypothetically throwing yourself in front of every bus!"

"After everything we've experienced," Dean said calmly, "You really think I would've stayed dead if I'd been killed in there, Sam?" Sam furrowed his brows at Dean's profile. "We've had our destinies and fates and all that crap laid out for us since day one, remember? Even though we ended up rejecting that crap in the end, you really think the angels or the demons would've let us stay dead before destiny played out the way they wanted it to?"

Sam thought about that for a moment as he sank slowly back into his chair. Dean watched him as the gears turned over in his head. Then Sam met his eyes again. "You know, I'd buy that brilliant sack of bullshit if you weren't still doing it now."

"What?"

"Our destiny crap?" Sam replied. "That's done. That's over. There is no free ticket anymore. No one is gonna pull us out anymore. Yet you're still...so ready to give up yourself for me. Or for anyone, really. Sometimes...sometimes I feel like...you can't wait to die," he told him quietly, sadness in his expression. "Like you want so badly out of this world, and you stick around so that if you do go out, you go out saving somebody in the process, and that makes it all okay. But it doesn't. It doesn't make it okay at all."

"You wanna tell me what, exactly, about our lives isn't selfless, Sam?" Dean replied gruffly. "What about it isn't being a goddamn martyr? This is our lives. This is what we've always done, what we've realized that we have no other choice but to do. It's a crap deal, but it is what it is, and I'm not gonna sit around an emo about it, or I really will want off this planet sooner." Sam's mouth was closed in a thin line as he breathed, nostrils flaring a bit in frustration, but considering his brother's words.

"Now, have you figured out where to find this guy? Or are we hangin' up fliers?"


	5. Chapter 5

Dressed in their black suits and carrying FBI badges, Sam and Dean entered onto Dozier school property through the front gate. As they tucked their badges back into their jacket pockets and walked toward the dig site, Sam went over the plan once more.

"So I start asking about the victim," he began, "And if anything weird has been going on, while you sneak off and search for wherever this alter might be. Which...I feel like if it were someplace obvious, someone would've seen it by now."

"I don't think they were lookin' in the right places, Sam," Dean replied.

"If you do find it, we get everyone to evacuate before we destroy it. Never know what could happen, and I'd rather not risk being wrong about the spirits."

"I'm gonna check out the warden's old office, see if there ain't some secret staircase behind a bookshelf or somethin'," he smirked and waggled a brow for a moment. "You be careful," he said as his expression grew serious. "You start feeling weird or anything...I mean anything, and you call me."

"Trust me, Dean. I don't wanna go through that ever again. I'll definitely let you know if it starts again."

With a short nod, the two separated, and Dean kept glancing back toward his brother until he was talking with one of the excavating team. Once Dean got into the main building, he glanced up and down the hallway to find where the warden's office might be.

Sam looked sympathetically at the woman he spoke to, who had obviously been good friends with the victim. "I'm sorry for your loss," he told her.

"Thanks," he gave him a sad smile.

"Can I ask, do you remember seeing anyone around, that day, that wasn't part of your team?"

"There were some news crews here on and off," she shrugged. "Nothing really out of the ordinary. Except..."

"Except what?" Sam raised his brows.

"Well...I mean, this whole thing with the dead children and everything... The town is getting chatty, ya know? I mean, we're scientists, so it shouldn't really bug us."

"What shouldn't?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Ghost stories, mainly," she sighed. "People say they can sometimes hear kids crying when there's no kids around. Stuff like that."

"Probably just tourist trapping," Sam shook his head.

"Right?"

"You'd have heard one of 'em by now, since you're right here," he smirked.

She gave a small laugh. "Well see, that's the thing," she said as her eyes grew a bit distant. "Dr. Grale, the victim, he was talking to me that morning before he died...about a nightmare he'd had. It was really creepy," she told him. "He said he dreamt that he was one of these boys. Like...really scary experience, basically. He said he dreamt that he was being beaten, and he could feel the pain, and he was more scared in it than he ever felt in his whole life."

Sam's face slackened and he clenched his teeth for a moment, causing his jaw muscles to twinge a bit. "That's..." he shook his head. "Has uh...have you or anyone else had any dreams like those, too?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "Then again, I don't really talk to many of the others the way Dr. Grale and I... Uh... We knew each other...for a really long time before coming here," she told him. "It's not that I don't like the rest of the team. It's just...there are certain people that someone feels comfortable enough to tell their scary dreams to, ya know?" she half-smiled. "But as for me, no I haven't. I have, however, had nightmares revolving around having found his body, since."

"You're the one who found him?" Sam asked, then swallowed.

She nodded. "We were usually the first two on the job. I saw his truck, but didn't see him at the dig site. So I went looking for him."

"How did you know where to look?"

"I didn't, really. But...since he had that nightmare, that whole day he kept looking over at the White House. He kept saying that that's where they took him. That's where they took the boy he dreamt he was. So I looked there, and..." she covered her mouth to hide the quivering in her chin. "Who would do something like that?" she asked quietly.

"A monster," Sam replied. "And we're gonna find it. So if there's anything else you can think of...anything at all, even if it seems really strange, you need to tell me."

"Okay," she nodded. "Like what? What do you mean?"

"Like...any strange smells before you left that night? See anything like...black smoke?"

"Black smoke?" she narrowed her eyes in question.

Sam was saved by his cell phone ringing. "Excuse me a moment," he told her as he fished it out of his pocket and turned away as he answered the call. "Hey."

"Dude, I found it," Dean sounded on the other line.

"That was fast," Sam said with raised brows.

"Yeah. Under the freakin' floorboards. Time to evacuate the normal people."

Sam huffed a small laugh. "Got it." He ended the call and turned around to the woman he'd been talking to, putting on a face of urgent concern so that he could make this work. "We have an emergency, and I need your help..."

*~.~*

Dean looked around the office he had literally torn apart. He'd locked himself in before anyone could see him and intrude before they could finish this, and now he was glancing between the open hatch-door in the floor, and out the window at his brother who had successfully caused a bit of a panic, and watched as the team of excavators began hurrying away.

He turned back to the floor and began dousing the alter with lighter fluid. He'd wait for Sam, before lighting it up. Then he decidedly grabbed big red permanent marker from the desk and started shoving the mess he'd made away to clear a spot in front of the door. He unlocked the door for Sam before he knelt down to begin drawing a devil's trap.

"Tsk tsk tsk," a sound came from behind Dean, and he spun around fast. "I'd have expected you to know better than to make the rookie mistake of not warding the room before messin' with my lil ol' alter," the warden said with a drawl.

Dean cursed under his breath. "Well," he shrugged, trying to play off the sudden panic within himself, "To be honest, I thought you'd've left town by now. Just tryin' to put to rest some old spirits is all."

"Well that just won't do, Mr. Winchester," he shook his head, and when Dean flinched in surprise of the demon's recognition. "Don't be so modest, kid. Not many around that don't know the likes of you." Dean's eye twitched as he watched him begin to walk a bit around the room, avoiding stepping on any of the mess, as he came toward Dean. "Now about these spirits," he continued. "You need to step away from this one. This is all mine, here, ya see?"

"Oh I see, mister," Dean replied. "I see a great big basket of crazy, even for a demon. What, it wasn't enough for you to brutalize and murder these kids? You had to keep 'em all stuck here for a hundred years to boot? What're you getting Hellscout points for this crap or something?"

"Clever, kid. But I don't have 'em here for Hell. They're here for my enjoyment. It's not every day you get little boys handed over to you my parents who couldn't care less about what happens to them. How could I possibly ever give that up?"

"I dunno where you got your wires crossed, pal, but those kids had families that loved them. They didn't hand them over for you to kill."

"You'd think," he tilted his head. "Except...these walls stayed open for over a century, no one ever questioning the death of these kids, year after year after year... No one cared, Dean. No one really cares now, either. They're just curious. They're interested in knowing. It's just the mystery they care about. You wanna stand there and tell me I'm the monster here, and I won't deny it. But am I really the only culprit in this...despicable crime?"

"There's a difference between those idiots and you," Dean replied. "You're still alive. Those people, they're probably burning in a very special corner of Hell. But there's no way I'm letting you keep these kids in yours," he said as he flicked his lighter and threw it into the floorboard-hidden alter.

The demon growled and flicked his hand mid-air, tossing Dean into a wall and pinning him there. "I can't believe you actually did that!" he shouted. "Right in front of me as if you thought you could get away with it!"

"I ain't a little boy, asshole," Dean growled. "I ain't afraid of you!"

"Oh really?" the demon reached his hand out into the air making a choking gesture, and Dean felt the pressure close around his neck, cutting off his air. "You should be. Because you'll be taking their place!" Dean struggled against the demon's hold, legs kicking out as he was pressed up the wall. "You know what the real funny part is, Dean?" he snarled as he moved in close enough that Dean could smell his rancid breath. "I was just hair away from getting you and Sam back after your mom got flash-fried."

Dean jerked in his grasp, coughing as the demon loosened his hold just slightly enough for him to speak. "The...hell you talking about?" Dean rasped.

"Don't you remember?" he grinned. "All those threats from daddy, you think word never got back to me? I tried to arrange it, believe you me," he tilted his head as he spoke. "What I wouldn't have given to have you and that sweet, pretty baby brother of yours..."

"Screw you, you sick f-"

"Dean!" Sam came bursting through the door, but the demon was quick, and he had Sam pressed up against the wall beside his brother before either of them could blink.

"Oh good!" the warden snickered. "I've got both of you. Tell me, Sammy, you think you can handle taking the place of all my boys?" he smiled grimly.

"You touch him and I'll rip you apart!" Dean yelled, and the demon strengthened his grip around his neck to shut him up.

"I don't see how you'll manage that," he replied, then turned his attention to Sam. "But you already know how it feels, don't you, Sam? You've already seen what'll happen to you over and over and over again."

"You've been outta the loop, haven't you," Sam snarled, nostrils flaring as he struggled against the demon's hold. "I did a century in the cage with Lucifer. There's nothing you can do that'll make me scream the way you'd want me to."

"Sam, shut up!" Dean shouted, angered by his brother's goading, then yelped as the demon pushed him so hard that the drywall behind him caved.

"Do tell, Sam," the demon said. "It sounds like an excellent challenge to me."

"You let me brother go, and you can have me," Sam told him. "I'm all you'd need."

Dean wouldn't screamed if he could.

But before an agreement could be made, dozens upon dozens of glowing blue lights came buzzing in through the window, flooding around the demon like a swarm of hornets. Neither brother understood what was happening at first, but as the demon began to struggle, they realized that they were the spirits of the children. They weren't just swarming him, but creating some sort of supernatural devil's trap, effectively containing him within a bubble-like structure.

The brother's dropped to the floor with a thud as the demon's power no longer had an effect on them. Sam immediately pulled out Ruby's knife and lunged forward, through the spirit-wall, and plunged the blade into the demon's chest. He flashed, his body glowing eery yellow-white light before the empty vessel dropped into a useless pile of flesh on the floor.

Sam watched as the blue lights then lingered there for a moment, as if to be sure their captor was dead. He dropped down beside Dean who was slumped against the wall still trying to catch his breath and in obvious pain. The glow from the spirits shone in both brother's eyes before they floated right back out the window. Sam helped Dean up off the floor and they made there way over to watch as they disappeared into the sky.

"Guess we don't have to burn any bones," Dean said with a raspy voice, then coughed at the ache that speaking caused.

Sam turned to his brother with worry in his eyes. "Let's get you outta here," he said, pushing them toward the door.

Dean held them back. "Fire. Clean up," he said shortly.

Sam shook his head. "Told them there was a contaminate leak and it could cause an explosion," he told him. "This place...shoulda burned a long time ago." Dean looked at him for a few moments before giving a short nod and leading the way out to the car...

*~.~*

One state over, after a quick evac of their room before getting on the road, Dean finally took over driving. Sam had let him sleep a few hours after the incident at the school. Dean's throat still hurt, but after his nap and some hot tea, he was able to talk without pain. Yet he'd remained silent a long portion of their trip. Eyes out on the road ahead of them, he had a thousand things running through his head. But only one of them was sprinting miles around them all.

"What you said back there to the demon," he began, but Sam was quick to cut him off.

"Was a hundred percent fact. Don't pretend like you wouldn't have tried to make the same deal," he argued.

"Sam..." Dean wanted to tell him he was wrong. But the fact was, he was absolutely right. Dean would've made that deal without a second thought. It didn't quite seem as logical when it was swapped around like this, though.

"And you were wrong before," Sam added.

"What?" Dean glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the road.

"About us not having a choice but to be selfless," he elaborated. "Our lives might revolve around keeping other people alive, but that doesn't mean we have to sacrifice ourselves; not our literal lives. We've given our lifetimes over to keeping people safe. That's sacrifice enough, Dean. That's always been enough and we've always given more than that. But we don't have to." Dean glanced at him again. "We might be stuck hunting until we're gray and wrinkly, but if we have a choice between life and death for ourselves we need to choose the one where we get the chance to get gray and wrinkly, Dean."

"You're saying this now, yet just before freakin' lunchtime today you were offering your life over for eternity to a dickbag pedo-bear-champion-of-the-century!" he yelled then winced and grabbed at his throat in regret of raising his voice.

"You idiot," Sam shook his head. "I knew he wasn't getting out of there alive."

"How could you possibly have known that?" Dean asked.

"Because they told me," he replied quietly. Almost too quietly for Dean to hear, but he heard. Even though the thought kinda scared the crap out of him, Dean tried to instead be grateful for this revelation. "No more being a martyr. No more trying to sacrifice yourself."

"Then that goes for you, too," Dean replied. "We go, we go together 'cause it'll be us going down fighting," he added, and Sam looked over at him. "I'm not doin' any more of that waiting around crap. If we're gonna be brought back, we get brought back together, too. If not, well, at least we're both outta here and hopefully in the same place, wherever that might be." There was a silent moment or two before he continued. "We got a chance to get out alive, we both take it. But no more tryin' to take one for the team. You realize that if that deal had actually happened..." he shook his head for a moment, "Sam, you know if you were gone like that being tortured somewhere...you really think I'd be okay with that? I've been there and done that, Sammy, and lemme tell you what... I'd rather suffer being tortured right alongside you, than be holed up in some white picket fence life living with the torture of knowing what you were going through so I could be there."

Sam swallowed, then nodded. "No more."

"We got a deal then?" Dean asked, glancing back at him for a moment.

"Deal."

Dean gave him a small smile then looked back to the road...

~End.


End file.
